


heartburn

by kusemono (Glitchgoat)



Category: IDOLiSH7 (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Chiba Shizuo/Yuki (Implied), Daddy Issues, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:01:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25962502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glitchgoat/pseuds/kusemono
Summary: He had suspected that the old man was fucking Yuki – from the first moment he saw Yuki, he knew it was almost certainly so, it’s never just washing the old man’s car– but he never wanted to be right.
Relationships: Nikaidou Yamato/Yuki
Comments: 9
Kudos: 21





	heartburn

**Author's Note:**

> _please don't stir it up_   
>  _i'm sure it's nothing but some heartburn, baby_

Yamato didn't _see_ much, and he can thank whatever god feels right in the moment for that; but he heard enough, and _that's_ been enough, buzzing on the inside of his head for the past week solid, like a fly that you simply can't seem to chase out of the room. It rattles against his skull, the thoughts compressing into a solid form from the sheer force of the pressure with which he tries to force them down.

It’s not going well, in other words.

The worst part is that, by this point, he’s come to expect it—or, something like it, anyway. That he’s come to expect it is not the problem. Yamato knows full well by now that whenever he’s here, it’s going to end that way one way or another, be it with his mother or with one of the girls only a few years older than him engaging in a bit of starfuckery. He’s always like that.

Usually, though, if he has to pass by the room, he just puts in a pair of earbuds and turns something up loud enough that he can’t think about it, and that plan has been working splendidly for him, but the old bastard just couldn’t close the sliding door all the way—not the first time.

Yamato had averted his eyes, but not fast enough. A split second was all it took to register silver hair, and he froze, then found it in him to at least pressed himself to the wall beside the doors. (Still not the worst part.)

Before he could stop himself, he pulled one earbud out, as though he needed to confirm the sinking rotten feeling in his stomach with his ears. (Still not the worst part.) He had suspected that the old man was fucking Yuki – from the first moment he saw Yuki, he knew it was almost certainly so, it’s never _just_ washing the old man’s car– but he never wanted to be right.

Standing there, rooted to the spot, pressed up against the wall in the dark and barely breathing, holding the earbud an inch from his ear as though to put it back in but not being able to muster it; listening to Yuki’s fake-ass gasps (he hopes they’re fake, he doesn’t want to deal with it if they’re real, he doesn’t want to deal with why he wants them to be fake –) as he has his long-held suspicions confirmed; _that’s_ the worst part.

Or maybe it’s that he stopped to listen at all. Maybe it’s that he listened more than he probably had to.

He plays that extended moment, and its implications, over in his head every night for the next week straight.

Sometimes it’s with rage, and it bubbles with the kind of incandescent, aimless rage that only a teenager can muster. It comes with the desire to pull back and go in swinging and damn the consequences, be that metaphorical or entirely literal. It’s the desire to ostentatiously interrupt if it happens again, or to find that partner that Yuki talks about so much and tell them and watch the fallout.

But it’s hard to tell if the anger is better or worse than the nights where it gives way to something horrible and jealous and _sad_ , bitter, pained.

Both ways have led, in their own ways, to the same end.

Yamato desperately – delusionally, even – hopes that Yuki never comes back; but Yuki comes back the next weekend, because of course he does.

Yamato avoids him completely.  


This puts into sharp relief exactly how bad of a job he’s been doing at avoiding him up until now; usually, he slinks around and watches Yuki out of the corner of his eye, concocting new and snide ways to deride him. (Or to have an excuse to give him something under the guise of a putdown.)  
Perhaps he’s been very bad at actually avoiding Yuki up until this point.

But now—well.

It’s quite hard to look somebody in the eye – even down the bridge of your nose – when you’ve jacked off more than once to the memory of overhearing him getting fucked by your dad.

(This is normal.)

So now Yamato avoids him entirely, and properly so. He holes up in his room, indulging in his teenage angst and staring at the ceiling, with only the buzzing of summer insects and the buzz inside his skull for soundtrack.

Yamato screws his eyes shut tight and exhales through his nose when he hears footsteps, and then the distant and muffled sound of conversation, his mother telling Yuki where the bathroom is, that _that man’s_ not around right now but he will be later if he wants to stick around, Yuki reassuring her that he knows more or less where things are, and then light, catlike footsteps coming down the hall.

Yamato briefly (feverishly) entertains the thought of leaping up and storming to the door, of throwing open the sliding door so hard it breaks, of catching Yuki being the one to slink around for once.

But the footsteps don’t stop—

(Is it his imagination, or does he hesitate for just a moment--)

— and Yuki passes by.

Why does that burn inside him— why does _that_ make his throat tighten and his head swim?  
He knows, but thinking too hard would make it real, so he’s not going to.

When the footsteps come back, Yamato isn’t sure how long it took. It may have been thirty seconds or thirty minutes for all he knows, but this time, it’s unmistakable that the footsteps stop outside his door, and they stay there as though waiting.

He means to get up with bravado, to have that great interruption, to be bold and confrontational and indeed go in swinging. Instead, when Yuki most definitely stops again, the footsteps right outside his door, Yamato heaves himself to his feet and pulls the door open just enough to glower out.

“You’re so antisocial,” Yuki says in what only counts as a greeting to the severely antisocial, and Yamato’s stomach churns. He sounds like he was expecting Yamato to come out; or, with as many overflowing social graces as Yuki possesses – or rather, his incredible deficit thereof – he might well have been simply planning to invite himself into Yamato’s room.

Best not to consider why.

“Do you want something,” Yamato says in as cold a tone as he can manage, which is not particularly successful when he just _cannot make himself make eye contact._

“Usually whenever I’m over you’re lingering like a lonely cat,” Yuki says, so matter of fact that it puts Yamato’s attempts to be icy to shame. “So I assumed something was wrong.”

“Nope. I’m doing great. You can go now. Have fun,” Yamato says, and begins to shut his door, but Yuki blocks it with his foot.

“You could try to be polite when someone is expressing concern for you.”

“ _You_ could try not forcing your way inside a teenager’s room.” Let alone the fact that he’s one to talk about politeness.

Yuki pauses; he purses his lips and taps a finger to his chin. “My apologies. Am I interrupting something?” he says, tone even but implication clear.

“Piss off,” Yamato snaps, and attempts to close the door on Yuki’s foot with some force.

Yuki sighs and shakes his head. He looks almost sad. “You’re so troublesome,” he says, but he acquiesces. He retracts his foot, and Yamato slides the door shut harder than he needs to. The footsteps retreat, and Yamato is left with nothing but the buzzing, now louder than ever.

It happens again that night.

Yamato is not the praying type, but he prays that Yuki doesn't see him.

Yuki does.

(Yuki did.)

**Author's Note:**

> _... and i'm happy not knowing._
> 
> [blows a kiss to the sky] for rin.  
> based on/expanded from a curiouscat prompt that i had more to say about
> 
> on twitter [@glitchgoats](http://www.twitter.com/glitchgoats)


End file.
